i've got this feeling we should both be reckless
by coffee-not-decaf
Summary: Playing gigs across the country was Gwaine's idea, not Arthur's. But he agreed to it, so he has to deal with whatever his decision might bring. It what it brings is Merlin. (Warning for past drug use and a mentioned suicide attempt)


"I have an idea."

"Those are dangerous words."

Arthur took in Gwaine's bright eyes and blinding smile with a touch of apprehension. Gwaine's ideas never ended well for him; they usually resulted in a pounding hangover and a regrettable one night stand behind door number who knows.

However, judging by his manic grin, Gwaine was bursting to tell him whatever mad notion had entered his mind, so Arthur set down his drink with an overdramatic sigh. "All right, go on and tell me before you explode."

"Road trip, Arthur. Road trip."

Arthur dismissed the ridiculous notion out of hand with a simple "Can't afford it."

"You didn't give me time to explain," Gwaine argued, sliding into Arthur's booth. Their semi-weekly ritual of pub nights was a thing of tradition, one that would not stop for the impending apocalypse, let alone Arthur's discomfort. Therefore, there was no getting rid of him for at least another hour. He was going to need another drink.

Or possibly two.

"Alright, explain," Arthur said, knowing that he would come to regret those words in due time.

"We quit our shitty jobs," Gwaine said and plowed on before Arthur could interrupt loudly and forcefully. "And take my uncle's old beat up pick-up and work our way through the country playing gigs."

"Playing gigs?" Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Gwaine, the Round Table hasn't played a gig in over a year."

The two of them, as broke music majors straight out of university, had once had the foolish notion of starting a two-man band. Needless to say it hadn't worked out the way either of them had hoped, seeing as how they now worked in adjoining cubicles at a real estate office. Still, Gwaine's vision of living off an income based solely on performances never died; Arthur's views, on the other hand, had grown much more jaded with time.

"We practice in the car," Gwaine shrugged him off. "C'mon, Arthur. Our lives are wrecks. Soon we won't be able to pay rent at our horrible rat-infested apartment. And let's face it, the Round Table gigs were the best times of our lives."

"Can't be a Round Table with just two people," Arthur tried not to hear the validity of Gwaine's statements, instead dredging up a longtime argument between them in the hopes of distracting his friend from making any more sense.

Gwaine was making sense. What had the world come to?

"Stop trying to change the subject," Gwaine said amicably. Damn him. "And listen to me. I know that you're about to go into a long spiel about the practicality of it, the absolute chaos it will be, and the ever rising cost of gas. I've already thought through it all. In fact, I already have two gigs booked."

Arthur who had just lifted his scotch up to his mouth, spluttered momentarily. "You _what_?"

"Are you going to say yes now?"

Arthur did not say yes. Not right away, at least. But after two weeks of being consistently pestered about the subject and on the brink of snapping Gwaine's neck, he finally gave in with a heated shout.

"Fine! Fine, I'll do it! Are you happy now?"

They quit their respective jobs the very next day. Arthur tipped over his boss's potted plant on the way out. It was possibly the best and most productive thing that he had ever accomplished within the constricting walls of that office.

Gwaine's car – well, technically, Gwaine's uncle's car – was a piece of junk. It ran, but only just. Arthur raised a dubious eyebrow when he first laid eyes on it, but Gwaine, being Gwaine didn't seem to care. He just grinned and dangled the keys in front of Arthur's face.

It took less than a week to pack up their meager belongings and a bit of wrestling with the landlord of their building in order to get out of their lease early. Still, exactly three weeks and one day after the initial suggestion, Arthur found himself in that passenger seat of the pick-up, Gwaine driving opposite him. He pulled his guitar out of his case that was lying at his feet; it had been awhile since he'd had time to play.

Gwaine's attempts to turn up Lily Allen's voice through the less than stellar radio speakers were killed with a homicidal glare from Arthur. His response was just a sunny smile, but thankfully, the radio was silenced.

"Buck up, mate, and be happy!" Gwaine's enthusiasm leaked through every nook and cranny of the vehicle except for where Arthur's body resided. "We're finally doing something meaningful with our lives!"

"If you call this meaningful," Arthur bit out, strumming a few chords on the guitar. It was slightly out of tune, but otherwise in good shape.

Gwaine was undeterred by the hostility; apparently prolonged exposure to Arthur's irritability had given him some kind of immunity. "Well then, more fun."

"Where's our first gig again?" Arthur sat up fully in his seat, eyes searching for a nonexistent map.

"Reading," Gwaine answered as he pulled onto the highway. "And after that, we'll work our way to Bristol. My mate Lance runs a bar there, he offered to let us play there. And we can crash for free."

"Nice," Arthur said appreciatively. He had heard Gwaine mention Lance a few times over the years, but he'd never actually met the bloke. Seemed that was about to change.

Before Gwaine could start up on another topic, Arthur played a couple of meaningful and familiar chords on the old guitar. Despite the fact that it was just a touch flat and the acoustics of the truck were barely a tangible idea, it actually sounded decent. Gwaine gave him a sideways look at the noise, but then nodded in understanding.

Arthur began to play, softly and hesitantly at first, growing more confident as he blended his voice in with the tones of the instrument. Gwaine joined his song, his voice a perfect harmony.

The song was an unusual one, one that Arthur had written just as he and Gwaine started playing together in the first place, which probably hadn't been sung since their first six months of gigs. It was an emotional piece for him, one that he usually avoided; his father's dismissal of Arthur from the Pendragon family was not a pleasant subject, one that had sent him on what had seemed like an endless downward spiral. That was the main reason that he had ceased adding that song to their set lists. He needed to forget about those emotions.

And he had, for the most part. But this trip was a new start for him, Arthur knew, and he wanted…he wanted something else. Something new. And maybe thinking about his past would lead him into a brighter future.

"_Hey, Captain, are you listening now…?"_

The gig in Reading went off without a hitch; for not having played tougher in so long, the two of them could actually be considered on the upper side of decency. After a week in less than stellar hotels playing gigs that headed westward, they found themselves in Bristol.

Lance's bar was in a small, slightly out of the way building on one of the less busy streets of the city, but Arthur was definitely not going to complain. Not to mention that it was called the Knight's Tavern, which was all kinds of ironic. He had to let out a little chuckle as their car swung into a small lot at the back of the building that Gwaine said they could park in.

"Hey, Gwaine," Arthur, slamming the car door shut behind him, hefted his guitar case over his shoulder to see a tanned, handsome man come out of the back entrance into the pub stride over to them and clap Gwaine's shoulder heartily before enveloping him in a quick hug. They broke apart after a second, and the man turned to face Arthur. "And you must be Arthur. I'm Lance."

"Nice to meet you," Arthur meandered around the tail end of the car to greet him with a firm handshake.

"You, too," Lance said warmly. "You're on at six if you want to go set up. And we – my wife, Gwen, and I – live above the bar, so you can take your bags right up the staircase. It's on your right as you walk in. You'll be on the couch, I'm afraid, and we've brought out an old pull-out bed, too."

Arthur smiled at Lance's genuinely troubled tone. "You're letting us stay here for free. You could be sending us to sleep in a cave surrounded by a pack of angry wolves and I wouldn't care as long as I wasn't paying a dime."

Lance laughed, but Gwaine looked at his friend, his forehead creased in confusion. "Hold up. I thought you had a guest room. Not that I'm complaining about the sleeping arrangements, but you _do _have a guest room. I've slept in it. I've had sex in it."

"You're disgusting," Lance said, but it was with a chuckle. Arthur just shook his head in exasperation at the not unexpected commentary. "But…uh…guest room's occupied. Merlin's back."

Arthur had no idea who Merlin was, but Gwaine's puzzled features immediately melted into ones of relief. "Oh thank God."

"Who's Merlin?" Arthur had to ask. He'd known Gwaine for nearly four years and had never heard the name Merlin in all of that time.

"Spreading rumors about me already, Lance?"

The bar's back door slammed shut once more as a new figure walked out. It took a second for Arthur's attention to snap to him, but the moment he did, his breath caught in his throat.

The figure that had stepped out of the shadows to stand next to Lance was perhaps the most exquisite sight he had ever taken in. A man in his early twenties, dark hair messy and windswept, narrow and overly pale features, a threadbare t-shirt and long-sleeved cargo jacket hanging off his lanky frame. He gave Gwaine and Arthur a small, close-mouthed smile.

Gwaine spoke, his voice one of wonderment. It would have left Arthur curious, but he was too busy staring at the man in front of him, willing himself to blink a few times just to make sure he was real. It didn't seem quite possible; he doubted he'd ever seen anyone this gorgeous in his life.

"Merlin," Gwaine breathed. "Oh, it's good to see you."

"You, too, Gwaine," Merlin's voice was low and melodic and he regarded Gwaine with a flicker of remorse in his crystal eyes. "It's been awhile."

"Way too fucking long," Gwaine reached forward and embraced him, Merlin's arms encircling his waist for a brief moment. Arthur's throat unstuck.

"Who's this, then?" He asked, hoping his voice didn't sound strangled.

"This is Merlin," Gwaine broke eye contact with his friend to address Arthur. "I haven't seen him in…God, five years?"

"Six," Merlin corrected. "We were nineteen."

"Yeah," Gwaine breathed, and then turned to Lance with anger momentarily flashing in his eyes. "You could have told me he was back!"

"It's only been three months," Lance said as he glanced at Merlin. "He didn't want us to tell…anyone, really."

Arthur knew he was missing something, and something important. But he had the unshakeable feeling that it would be uncomfortable for everyone involved if he even posed the question, so he chose to remain silent. For now, at least. Maybe he'd ask Gwaine once they got on the road again.

"Well, I suppose as long as I know now," Gwaine had obviously decided not to argue the subject any further. "C'mon, Arthur, let's go set up."

"Hey, I haven't been introduced yet!" Merlin called to Gwaine's retreating backside as Lance led him into the bar with an apologetic look at Arthur, which he appreciated. Before Arthur could head in with him, he felt Merlin's hand, pale and spidery fingers firm against his own. "I'm Merlin. Lovely to make your acquaintance."

"Arthur," he replied, holding onto Merlin's hand perhaps a second longer than he should have. "Gwaine's friend and band mate."

"I know," Merlin's smile was fuller this time around. "Looking forward to seeing your show tonight."

"I hope you enjoy it," Arthur said. Merlin simply grinned again before sauntering toward the door, slipping a lighter out of his pocket and flipping it over in his hand a few times before slipping it back into his jeans. Arthur found himself trailing behind, part of him confused, the rest of him intrigued.

It was proving to be an exciting venue; and to think, he hadn't even made it through the door yet.

The played two sets that night. The Knight's Tavern was their busiest venue yet; apparently Lance had advertised their appearance with marginal success. Arthur saw him watching the show from behind the bar, his wife, Gwen, at his side; Arthur had met her while lugging his bag up the staircase to their attic of a home. She had been sweet and bubbly and he had taken to her immediately.

The mysterious Merlin, however, Arthur hadn't encountered for a second time. He had seemingly disappeared, and Arthur's eyes searched him out in the semi-crowded, barely lit environment. Midway through the first set, Arthur finally noticed him in the back corner, watching Arthur and Gwaine with a small smile, an unlit cigarette held between his fingers. The smile grew when he became aware of Arthur's focus; Arthur immediately turned his attention back to strumming his guitar.

When they finished playing, just after ten, the bar applauded with a touch of enthusiasm. Arthur shared a grin with Gwaine at their successful night before hopping off of the small corner stage, leaving their guitars there to collect at another time.

Lane wolf-whistled as he nearer them. "Great show, guys!"

"Amazing!" Gwen chirped from behind him.

"Yeah, spectacular," Merlin had sauntered across the room and through the slowly dispersing crowd to join their circle. Gwaine gave him a look that was somewhat in awe; as if he couldn't believe that this was real. It made him itch to know what the hell had happened six years ago, but he kept his mouth zipped. "Awesome job, Gwaine," he said to his friend, although his eyes were fixed on Arthur's, sending a pleasant chill down his spine.

"Thanks, mate," Gwaine's exuberance was infectious; he always got a certain high off of performances that Arthur usually didn't experience.

"You, too, Arthur," Merlin said. "Since Gwaine can't write for shit, I'm assuming he has you to thank for the lyrics – they were gorgeous. Really beautiful. And your voice made them come to life."

"Oi!" Gwaine said, but Arthur ignored him in favor of the unexpected blossom of warmth exploding in his chest.

"Thanks," he said with a touch of hesitance. "You must be into music, too."

Merlin shrugged, averting his eyes. "Not so much anymore."

Gwen cleared her throat forcefully. "How about drinks on the house in celebration?"

A chorus of yeses greeted her words, and although Arthur's night was made by receiving a free scotch, he didn't learn anything about Merlin.

He didn't expect to learn, anything, actually, at least not from Merlin himself; the next morning, Gwaine woke him up at some sort of unholy hour before eight, saying something incomprehensible about a gig they needed to get to by noon. Arthur had no idea why the fuck _noon _was the timing of a show, but as long as money was involved, he didn't exactly have room to complain.

And since Lance and Gwen weren't getting up to see them off, Arthur wasn't expecting to see Merlin again, either, a fact that he had a vague and unexplained disappointment about. They had talked briefly again the night before, but Arthur had already downed four drinks at that time, so the details were fuzzy.

He was proved wrong when he stumbled, still half asleep and being nearly dragged by Gwaine, who was far too awake and unaffected by last night's drinking, out of the bar's back door, guitar over one shoulder and bag over the other, to see Merlin leaning against their car, a tattered bag at his feet.

"Ready?" Gwaine asked and Merlin nodded.

"For?" Arthur glanced between them, not wanting to be left out of the loop again.

"It seems I'm coming along," Merlin's eyes were tired, circles prominent, but they still smiled at Arthur. "Gwaine, apparently, has been very lonely without me."

Arthur stared. And stared some more. And then turned to Gwaine. "When did this happen?"

"Last night, somewhere between my fifth and sixth drink," Gwaine said with a noncommittal shrug and a slight smirk.

"If you don't want me along, I'm more than happy to hang back," Merlin put his hands up in mock defense. "But I've been dying to get out of here, and now I have a legitimate excuse. Lance and Gwen are amazing, the best friends I could have ever, but dammit, they feel like my parents sometimes."

"And he's obviously not going to have that problem with me," Gwaine added in helpfully, making Arthur snort at the mere thought of Gwaine taking on the role of a mature and responsible adult.

"And you just…didn't tell me about it?" Arthur asked. He was more than happy to let Merlin tag along; he was still insatiably curious about the other man. But there was something very off about the situation.

"I thought you said he was your best friend," Merlin shook his head pitifully in Arthur's direction. "I would think he would know your tactics by now."

Arthur bristled a bit at the comment; there was no one on earth that he knew better than Gwaine. Who the hell was this Merlin character, anyway, to question that?

"Well, unless Arthur's about to throw a princess-worthy hissy fit about the sanctity of the vehicle…" Gwaine trailed off, turning toward Arthur with a pleading look in his eyes. Arthur sighed.

"I still get shotgun."

Gwaine's whooping cry of victory wasn't nearly as satisfying as Merlin's shy smile and eyes shining with gratitude.

When light snores from Merlin in the backseat filled the seemingly even smaller car nearly two hours later, Arthur jumped at the chance for an explanation. He waited an experimental thirty seconds before turning to face the driver's seat.

"Alright, I've been patient enough. Tell me what the hell is going on."

Gwaine sighed heavily before looking at Arthur. His dark eyes were more serious than Arthur could ever remember seeing them and when he spoke, he was somber. "Merlin was my best mate since I met him when we were eleven."

"Eleven?" Arthur repeated. "That's…over thirteen years ago. And you never even mentioned him once?"

"He dropped out of uni when we were nineteen," Gwaine continued on as if Arthur hadn't spoken. "Started hanging out with the wrong kinds of people, cutting ties with all of his other friends…Mainly me, Lance, and Gwen." His look turned remorseful. "We should have…I don't know, we should have done something. But by the time we realized it, it was too late."

"Too late for what?" Arthur couldn't help himself from a quick peak into the backseat. Merlin's long and limber body was spread out all across the seat cushions, mouth open ever so slightly and eyes twitching as if he were to wake up any second.

"Drugs," Gwaine shook his head. "Bad ones, too. Eventually, he just left. We didn't hear from him again. Until now, that is."

"Why did he come back?" Arthur breathed. "Did you ask him?"

"Lance said that Merlin called him up three months ago, apologizing," Gwaine said. "Wanted to call me, too, apparently, but Lance got him into a rehab program first – it just finished a couple of weeks ago – and basically commanded that Merlin stay with him. God, he's a good guy."

"He is," Arthur agreed wholeheartedly. He couldn't even imagine that level of unconditional friendship, not even with Gwaine, who was easily the best and most important person in his life and had been since the moment his father left him in the dust.

"They should've called me," Gwaine grumbled under his breath. "Why the hell didn't he call me?"

Arthur knew that he couldn't supply an answer to Gwaine's question, so he remained silent, and looked at Merlin's sleeping figure, limbs splayed out almost comically, but eyes still moving madly about under the lids as if his dream was so intense it was dying to be displayed to the natural world.

They developed a routine over the next couple of weeks; Merlin would help Arthur and Gwaine set up for their show, with a few sarcastic comments and general ribbing of them both, the gig would be played as Merlin surveyed from the sidelines, usually with a plethora of cigarettes. These he lit, unlike the ones Arthur had seen him with back at the Knight's Tavern. He wondered vaguely if it was because of how Lance and Gwen would react to it.

After they were through playing, Merlin would again help them take their equipment offstage and back to the truck. Afterwards, Gwaine would go on the search for horny women, much to both Arthur and Merlin's amusement, as they hung back, usually with a drink, for a lengthy discussion.

Arthur found that Merlin was quite good at talking over drinks; he was interesting, a true storyteller, with his voice charismatic and welcoming. They tended to sit with one another after nearly every show to entertain themselves with one another's company. Merlin never talked about his years of addiction and Arthur never asked; instead, he was regaled with tales from Merlin and Gwaine's childhood, many of them hilarious, a few of them bittersweet, and all of them had Arthur hanging on to every word.

Neither of them ever went out on the pull. Arthur tried not to think about what that might mean.

He knew he fancied Merlin an unbelievable amount, but there was something so off kilter about him that made Arthur question everything he felt toward the person he could very safely say was now a close friend. It was confusing, even vaguely terrifying sometimes, and Arthur had no idea what it was.

Until he did.

The night had gone like any other; Gwaine had followed a leggy brunette out of the pub within a record time span, wiggling an eyebrow at them as he left. Merlin had snorted half-heartedly when he would have normally made a snarky comment, and only then Arthur realized that Merlin's pallor was even whiter than usual, with his dark hair plastered to his forehead, a slight tremor in his hand.

Instantaneously, Arthur escorted Merlin out of the bar, despite his loud, fruitless protests, and they headed back the hotel they had checked into earlier that day. It was only when Merlin was seated, curled up on one side of the bed that he said "Thank you."

"Nothing to thank me for," Arthur said, sitting down on the bed opposite him. The two were twins, barely a foot apart in the cramped and dusty space. The room wasn't nice, not even borderline. But it was cheap and that was all that mattered in the grand scheme of things. "You would've done the same."

"Would I have?" Merlin's tone was joking but his smile was fixed. "God, sometimes…sometimes it gets bad."

The conversation had taken an unexpected turn; this was a road they hadn't gone down before. Arthur shifted slightly, preparing himself. "The…"

"The cravings," Merlin shook his head. "You'd think after four months…but no. I still want it. So badly."

Arthur looked down, unsure of how to respond. He'd dealt with a load of shit in his life, but never anything like this. "Do you…what drug? Can you say it?"

"Heroin," Merlin answered with relative ease. "I don't have any trouble saying the word. It's just a word, after all. Nothing to be afraid of."

"That's bullshit," Arthur said harshly. He was surprised at his own anger. "It's not just a word. Well, it is, but the meaning of it, what it implies…that's not _just _anything."

Merlin's eyes regarded him with some form of respect, but with a tint of sadness. When he opened his mouth, his voice was tender, as if gently stroking a baby lamb. "Tell me."

"Tell you what?" Arthur looked at his hands.

"What happened to you," Merlin said softly. "Something had to have happened. You understand it too well."

Arthur hadn't planned on answering. Or, at least, answering honestly. But his mouth was open before he could stop himself. "My father disowned me three years ago when he discovered I was gay."

Merlin sat up fully and his hand reached across the short space between them as if to touch him, but Arthur flinched away. He wasn't finished yet. "And then Gwaine and I had an epic failing in the music business and quit our band. Well, for a while."

"I knew about that one," Merlin said quietly.

"And then, last spring…" Arthur could feel the bile rising in his throat and every pore of his mind screaming at him to stop, but they were too late. "I tried to kill myself."

He could remember the night with perfect clarity. Gwaine had been out of town, visiting his brother, and there had been a message on his voicemail, one from his sister, Morgana, telling him that his father had officially written him out of his will.

Arthur, although he had been under the impression that he'd been written out ages ago, sobbed and screamed and raged. He broke the landline, smashing it on the ground, a few dishes following it. It had been the last straw after two years of utter pain and misery, with seemingly nothing in his life worth living for. Not his family, not his music, not anything.

And because Arthur had always been rash, the definition of impulsive, he had torn open the medicine cabinet and down far too many pills.

After calming himself down, he realized what he had done and became so sick with himself that he didn't even need any mustard or other disgusting substance to throw them up.

He didn't mention it to Gwaine when he arrived back at their flat three days later, and if Gwaine wasn't aware of an event in Arthur's life, than no one was. He never spoke of, tried not to think of it.

Apparently that one golden rule was broken now.

He gazed across at Merlin, expecting to see pity in his eyes, or perhaps even revulsion at the thought of Arthur doing such a thing…but all he saw was wide and incredibly, incredibly blue pupils, completely unreadable.

Until Merlin bridged the gap between them and Arthur found himself being pulled into Merlin's arms; they wrapped around him, squeezing him so hard Arthur thought he might choke. He responded by wrapping one of his arms around Merlin's waist, the other around his neck, as they clung to one another.

"Never again," Merlin whispered into his ear, his voice rough and, Arthur found with a jolt, on the verge of tears. "Never again, you hear me?"

"Yeah," Arthur's voice was thick and he gripped Merlin even tighter.

When he woke up the next morning, one of Merlin's hands was clasped in his, the other lightly palming Arthur's neck. Neither of them had let go.

Gwaine noticed the change in Arthur and Merlin's dynamic, Arthur was sure. Ever since that night, light touches between them were now nothing of consequence, and holding each other's gaze for longer than strictly necessary was becoming increasingly common.

They had taken volunteering to share the hotel room beds as well, and when Gwaine was with whatever ill-advised one night stand he had managed to wrangle up, they didn't even ask, just crawled in next to each other. It never went beyond the bone crushing hugs and what could only be described as spooning, though.

It was a wonder that Gwaine hadn't spoken up before he did, what with his usual loud, crass ways.

Arthur found himself being metaphorically cornered one day, a week or so after the incident, out at the trunk of the car while Merlin was discussing payment with the manager of the pub; wrangling payments was something that he was rather good at.

Gwaine had gazed him in a concerned way for half a second before saying. "I don't know what you're doing with Merlin, and I don't want to. No, wait," he held up a hand to stop Arthur from speaking. "Arthur, just watch yourself, alright?. Because both of you have been through the mill, and I'm just afraid…"

"Afraid of what?" Arthur was a masochist of the highest regard.

Gwaine's answer was bracingly honest. "That he'll disappear again."

Arthur didn't want to think about Gwaine's warning. He purposefully avoided thinking about it most of the time, pushing and shoving it out of his head when it started lurking about. Instead, he focused on Merlin's hands, fingers long and excited, talking for him most of the time, his stories, a breath of fresh air, and his smile, lighting up Arthur's heart like he was walking on thin air.

And his voice.

Arthur had never heard Merlin sing; a fact that needed remedying as soon as possible. And it was.

In their new hotel room, this one a bit nicer than the last – it had hot water, at the very least – the night after a successful gig, when Gwaine was still at the pub, but the two of them decided to turn in early, something that was happening more and more as of late. But this time, Arthur had brought his guitar along with him.

Merlin, apparently, took this as a code for stealing it from him on their way up the staircase.

"Merlin!" Arthur truly did try not to laugh. It was his guitar, dammit; no one was allowed to touch it but him! Still, the brightness in Merlin's eyes and the giggle hidden beneath his hand couldn't help but cause him to smile along with him as he chased Merlin into the room.

"What?" Merlin's tone was innocent as he dropped into an armchair next to the television set, guitar still in his hand. Arthur was about to grab it from him, but he noticed that Merlin was subtly moving it into a position so he could play it. Arthur stopped, fascinated. He hadn't even known Merlin knew the guitar.

"_Well, I don't know how long it's gonna take me to swim across the ocean. But I figure it might take days," _Merlin's voice was rough and course, his fingers a bit of practice on the instrument, but Arthur was entranced by the sound. "_And I don't know how tired it's gonna make me, but that's okay. I am only sure of one thing now, I am only sure of one thing now. That the waves…that crash against New York…will echo to the emerald isles."_

A few strums later, Merlin held the guitar back out to Arthur, his cheeks pink. "Sorry. Haven't played in ages."

"Sorry?" Arthur let out an incredulous laugh. "Sorry? Merlin, that was fucking incredible."

Merlin's face heated up even more. "…Thanks."

As in all instances with Merlin, Arthur wasn't planning on it. Not in the slightest. But at this point, he had come to the realization that he didn't have much of a choice in the matter.

He leaned across the space between them, slowly moving the guitar out of the way and onto the ground as he crouched next to the chair, lifting his head up to be level with Merlin's, hesitantly pushing forward ever so slightly.

Merlin, of course, wasn't patient enough and met Arthur halfway. His lips tasted of cigarette smoke and alcohol and Arthur loved them all the same.

Merlin stood, pushing Arthur up along with him; he wrapped an arm around Arthur' neck and tangled another in his hair. Arthur moaned breathlessly into the kiss as he used his own arms to encircle Merlin's waist.

"Been waiting for ages," Merlin breathed. "Clothes off."

"Bossy," Arthur chuckled into the kiss, but obliged. His shirt was off a second later, and one of Merlin's hands was playing with the zipper of his jeans.

Arthur made a move to get Merlin's overlarge long-sleeved t-shirt off of his lanky frame, but a hand stopped him.

"Arthur…" Merlin's voice was uncertain. It was only then that Arthur realized he had never seen Merlin in short sleeves. The needle marks. That's where they hid, a constant reminder that Merlin was just as broken as he was.

Arthur tugged the shirt off over Merlin's head anyway, and the marks left from the syringes that littered Merlin's sinewy arms suddenly didn't matter. All that mattered was that Merlin was kissing him to within an inch of his life, everything else be damned. If only just for this moment.

Arthur woke up that morning to an empty, cold, bed.

He hadn't woken up alone in weeks.

There was a hastily scribbled note on the dresser with a few simple words. _I love you. I'm sorry._

Arthur isn't sure when he started crying; all he knew was that Gwaine found him trying to drown himself in alcohol at ten o'clock in the morning.

He didn't say anything, let alone 'I told you so', and for that Arthur was grateful. He didn't think he could handle any words.

They don't play a gig for a few days, but eventually the necessity of money brings Arthur out of his stupor, and they head on to the next town – _where Merlin can't find them anymore – _and a new song is added to their set list.

"…_And I swear, I'm trying, but these days ain't seen a lot of love, and I'll never see another like the one I've seen in you…"_

"I relapsed."

A month later, Arthur was at a bar in fuck knows, somewhere in Wales, and Gwaine was around there, maybe putting equipment back in their still shitty car that's broken down three times now, and he's hearing a voice he's been conditioning out of his mind.

He expected not to see him when he turned around, but shockingly enough, he's real. Standing there, Merlin was pale and drawn, and looking smaller than Arthur had ever seen him before. His breath caught in his throat, just as the first time they met, and he couldn't help himself from staring.

"What?" He gasped out as soon as he regained control of his breathing.

"I wanted to come back," Merlin sighed as he sank into the barstool next to Arthur, and he's reminded violently of the times they've done this before, been in this exact situation, only with smiles and stories instead of whatever this was. "But I felt so goddamn guilty about doing that to you. And I've hurt who knows how many people. I figured it would be easier…if I just went back."

"You didn't," Arthur said, because it was all he could get out.

"I did," Merlin said. "I just…I couldn't stay here, Arthur. I couldn't…not when_ that_ could happen at any time. So I decided to make it easier for everyone and just get it over with."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard in my life," Arthur let anger seep through his words. "God, Merlin, why the hell would you do that?"

"It's what I always do," Merlin shook his head sadly. "I've tried so many times…I never expected this to last very long. But then…you." He chuckled. "More addicting than any drug. It's why I'm back. If you'll forgive me, I'd like to try again. Properly this time."

"How the hell..." Arthur trailed off. "How the hell would you think it would be that easy? Merlin, I don't think you understand. You leaving ripped my fucking heart out. You knew more than anyone what was going on in my head, but you hurt me more than anyone else."

"I know. And I really am sorry," Merlin's remorse was more viewable now, his eyes screwed shut tight. "I just…I've never been in a real relationship with someone. I don't know how to act. What to do. And it terrifies me."

"The feeling's mutual," Arthur said into his drink and then chanced a look over at Merlin, whose eyes were already on him, full of something unnamable, something akin to love. Love. "Did you mean it? The other part of the note?"

"Yes," Merlin's answer was instantaneous and tender. He reached a hesitant hand out to cup Arthur's cheek. "Definitely."

Arthur tried to smile, but it was probably more watery than he would have liked. But that didn't matter, because Merlin's lips were on his an instant later, and even though it was mostly painful and anything but perfect, it was there. And it was real.


End file.
